


Loaded

by jericho



Category: Blur
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:50:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jericho/pseuds/jericho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Graham's inattentiveness leaves Damon with some sexual frustration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loaded

Damon spent the entire radio interview with his cock pressed hard against the zipper of his jeans. It wasn't an ideal situation, of course, but it had been going on for a week. He'd almost grown used to the twitch of frustration somewhere between his heart and his gut, and eying every member of the male species hungrily like he was about to take out his wallet and pay for it. Graham had fulfilled so many needs for him for so long that he wasn't even sure where else to look for it now. Graham used to pin him down and pound into him until Damon gulped back sobs from the overload of feeling. Now there was just nothing. Blank. Speak directly into the microphone, please. 

"So they're calling this the best Blur album ever," the deejay said, voice a little too chipper, pen tapping against the desk in a way that made Damon want to reach out, snatch it out of his hands and break it in half. The deejay looked good, though - closely cropped black hair, luminous eyes, the sort of person who would throw someone down on the console and fuck them silly. Damon had answered these questions so many times that he could answer them without thinking. Every album was to be the best Blur album ever. Every album had new influences, a tightness and precision now associated with Blur, a fluid exactness that came from a lot of jam sessions. Damon's lips brushed against the rough microphone as he answered the questions, his eyes fixed on the deejay, mind swirling from his fantasy. And the deejay had no idea. Brilliant. 

Alex laughed at something he said, and it prompted Damon to look over. Graham's arms were crossed, head bowed, eyes closed like he was at home in bed. Dave leaned over and tapped Graham's cheek with the back of his hand. Dave was the only one who could get away with that. Graham came to with a startled jerk and rubbed his eyes. Loaded. 

Days like these were more like sitting next to a heavy, old version of Graham, all of the personality that Damon used to love sucked out and replaced with beer-laced attitude. The round brown eyes were still there occasionally, the slender and slightly awkward hands, and when Graham did something to accentuate one of these things, it was like seeing a ghost. 

Damon caught Alex's glance over the other two and Alex quickly looked down at the book in his lap. The book was a testament to how much Alex ever paid attention. 

"Right, so, thanks for coming in, guys," the deejay said, snapping Damon back to reality. 

Damon smiled slowly, using the voice that he knew sounded smooth and clean, the sort of voice that drove the teenies mad. "My pleasure." 

*** 

Damon's house filled so quickly that night that he didn't even have time to wank. He was in the upstairs loo next to his bedroom, cock in hand, image in his head as he brought himself closer to orgasm, when the doorbell rang. Within minutes, the living room was packed with excited, trendy Londoners, people Damon didn't really know or care about but were fun to party with anyway. Graham showed up about an hour into it, already hanging off one of his mates, and Damon felt a slight sting of jealousy until he realized that the person was holding him up. 

Alex was about two hours later, moving in a slow, dragging his ass fashion that only Alex could really pull off, not seeming to care that he was about two lines of cocaine behind everyone else. Damon didn't even see him until he put a cigarette between his lips to light it and Alex walked by and grabbed it out of Damon's mouth. "Mine," he said, and lit it. 

"Cheers," Damon said flatly. 

Alex seemed to concede and turned the cigarette around. "Open up," he said, and put it back in Damon's mouth. "Graham's in your bedroom." 

"What's he doing there?" Damon tried hard to keep his voice nonchalant, but his body was buzzing right now and it wasn't easy. 

Alex shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he's finally going to fuck you." 

Damon tried to look shocked, or annoyed, or whatever emotion came first that wasn't the true one, which was a hybrid of frustration and embarrassment that only Graham could drag out of him. He didn't know Alex had noticed, although it didn't exactly take binoculars. "Piss off," Damon said lightly, tapping Alex's arm as he pushed past him. 

He passed people on the staircase that he didn't know or care about, people who came in to indulge in the drugs and booze that now notoriously followed Blur everywhere. He didn't know what he'd see when he got to the second floor, or even if Alex was telling the truth. Maybe Alex was standing at the foot of the staircase laughing his ass off, but that would be a kind of cruelty that Alex just didn't have in him. There were more people in the hallway, more lined up for the loo, and he stopped at his bedroom door and rested his hand on the doorknob. Maybe he'd see nothing. Maybe he'd find Graham fucking someone else, and he wasn't sure he could handle such an obvious smack in the face right now. But it was his bedroom, after all, and when he did open it, there was darkness. 

It wasn't pitch black. The lights from the ominous lamp posts shone through the mesh curtains, casting a slice of blue light over the bed. Alex was right. There was Graham, except he wasn't really doing anything. He looked like he'd passed out. Damon inched over to the bed, getting a better look. There were the brown corduroy pants, a black T-shirt with writing on it that Damon couldn't make out, even though he'd memorized all of Graham's T-shirts by now. Graham's eyes were closed, body sluggish, and Damon sat down as carefully as possible on the side of the bed. 

Graham's eyes opened, not quickly, but like someone raising a window blind in slow motion. "Hey," Damon said, trying to sound cheery. Already there was the smell of booze, impossible to describe but one he'd come to associate with his friend, and it was hard to tell which one of them it was coming from, anyway. Graham extended his arm, then it suddenly seemed too heavy for him and he dropped it, fingers making it far enough to brush Damon's leg. 

"Hey," Graham mumbled back. He was a sickly, heart breaking shadow, but Damon didn't care. He leaned down without thinking and kissed Graham's forehead, and Graham's hand rested on his thigh. "I love you," Graham said, his tongue sounding thick and awkward. It wasn't something they normally said. It was the booze talking, stirring up displaced emotions and bullshit words. It was the same effect as when Graham got so pissed off at one of them that he punched them in the face for a sarcastic remark. 

It was all Damon needed, though. His lips drifted downward and touched Graham's. They were full and soft, as always, and the flavour of alcohol and cigarettes when Damon tasted Graham's tongue was achingly familiar. He scooted over until he had a leg on either side of Graham's body, kissing him with as much urgency as Graham could match, before he sat up, straddling him, and stripped off his shirt. A flicker passed over Graham's eyes, excitement or lust or some old emotion cutting through the alcoholic daze. It was enough for Damon to unbutton Graham's pants and tug them down Graham's hips with such force that Graham's body jerked and a few short strands of almond-coloured hair fanned out on the pillow. 

He was between Graham's legs in seconds, desperate lips closing over the head of Graham's cock, breathing a sigh of relief when it bobbed to meet his tongue. A frantic mantra played on loop in his mind. Come on, come on, come on. He slid his mouth over it, having no problems taking it all because it wasn't fully erect, although it wasn't like he'd have problems anyway. But just as he started a sucking motion, one that would have brought Graham off in two minutes when they were 17, his heart did a slow tumble. He took his mouth away and there it was. Soft. 

"Sorry," Graham said, sounding like all he wanted to do was pass out anyway. Damon sighed and got up, sitting back on his knees and looking at the prone body in front of him. The body of his best friend, his longest standing sexual partner, and the body that just wouldn't do what he wanted it to do. 

"It's all right," Damon said quietly, leaving his shirt off as he crawled back up the bed and lay down next to Graham. Graham was already drifting back to whatever place he'd been in before Damon came in, and Damon lay on his side and watched. Where did he go? What did he do there? Or was it just a mindless state of half death, a mild alcoholic coma, a place where he didn't need Damon or Blur or any stress from ordinary life? 

Damon yawned. The cocaine had worn off, the booze was long gone and the party wasn't that fun anyway. He was more interested in the way the blue light cast dark shadows over Graham's face, illuminated his eyelids, the way one of Graham's hands rested on his stomach, so thin and pale that Damon could imagine the veins just under the skin, pumping thin blood in a slowly deteriorating rhythm. He didn't even notice when he fell asleep, too. 

When Damon opened his eyes again, he didn't notice that the noise on the other side of the door had disappeared, or that Graham had started snoring and then stopped again. There was just the too-bright light filtering into the room, and the heavy breathing of Graham lying next to him. He looked down at himself. Shirtless, zipper undone in a fit of optimism. Hung over? No, not hung over. It wasn't until he'd taken stock of himself that he sensed someone watching him, and on instinct he looked in the direction of the door. 

Alex stood against the frame, silently, dressed in the same black clothes he'd had on the night before. Had he gone home, or was he still there? Likely still there. With a couple of uppers, Alex could stay awake for days, tottering and weaving but always staying upright. His limbs looked long and lean from that angle, as did the cigarette hanging from his fingers. For once, he wasn't speaking. 

Damon shaded his eyes with his hand, squinting in Alex's direction, ready to say something but not quite knowing what to say. Surely Alex hadn't been watching them sleep. There was no way someone who was fascinated with enormous things like galaxies and flying airplanes would get anything out of that at all. 

Alex finally moved, dropping his cigarette in a beer bottle that had somehow ended up on Damon's dresser. His feet didn't even make a scraping noise on the carpet as he crossed the room, and he climbed onto the bed with feline agility. Damon was too shocked to say anything, too taken aback to push Alex's hands away when they fully undid his trousers, and too fascinated by the way Alex slid down the bed, tugging Damon's pants down over his hips, to do anything other than stare. 

"Shh," Alex said, so inaudible that the only way Damon knew what he was saying was the way his lips pursed. He must have known that Damon had been hard for days, must have sensed the need to get off with something that wasn't so obviously his own hand, his own boring flesh and his own tired imagination. He watched in daylight and technicolour as Alex's tongue touched the head of his burning cock, and he bit his lip hard to stifle the groan. 

He propped himself up on his elbows, trying to hold his breath, Graham's deep breathing not even half a foot away from him. His elbow bumped Graham's back and he pulled it away like it stung. Alex kept going, pulling the foreskin back and lapping at Damon's cock with his long, amazing tongue, hand starting a rhythm that made Damon wonder how the hell he was going to control himself. 

And it just kept going. Good. So good. Alex's wet mouth made him throb. He bit his lip hard enough to taste his own blood. He wanted to moan and thrash and cry out from relief, but he couldn't. He had to maintain. He couldn't. Wake. Graham. 

His breath came in short gasps, and he gently eased his body onto the bed so he could lie on his back. He didn't have the strength for anything else, and he was shaking too badly for any kind of balance. He reached down and grabbed a handful of Alex's hair, harder than he meant to, trying to tell him that he was coming. He wanted to say it, but he could only hope that Alex knew. 

He looked down to see Alex curl his tongue against the head of Damon's cock, neatly catching each stream of semen. Just the sight of that made it unbearable, and Damon's strained, cramped moan cut through the silence. 

They both froze for a moment, Damon still in the throes of helpless orgasm. Nothing. No movement from Graham. Damon let himself breathe and looked down to see Alex lick his lips, gently pulling Damon's trousers back into place and sitting up. He crawled off the bed as silently as he'd crawled onto it, and left the room with nothing but a wink. 

*** 

Damon had seen wildlife programs on television where the lions stood on the outskirts of the fields, watching their prey hungrily as if they were just waiting for the right moment to pounce and devour them. For the rest of the week, when he saw Alex, he imagined that's how he must have looked. 

There were all of these things he hadn't noticed before. He hadn't noticed how easily Alex laughed, how he'd stretch his long legs out and rest his feet on whatever was closest whether it was polite or not. The black clothes made him look like some macabre birthday present waiting to be unwrapped. They hadn't spoken about what happened on the bed, and Alex didn't even seem to remember it. Damon wondered if it was meant to be unspoken, one of those things they never brought into the light of day simply because they couldn't be bothered. But if that was the case, how could he do it again? 

He cornered Alex after the next radio interview, after Graham had hugged him sloppily at the back door of the station and Dave had led them both to the car. Alex rounded the corner, a pen with the radio station logo in his mouth, the world's stupidest neon yellow visor on his head that the station receptionist had given him. "We ready?" he said casually. 

Damon grabbed his arm so hard that his fingertips could have left bruises, but Alex didn't flinch. He just let himself be spun around the corner to where no one was looking, slammed against the wall, and his mouth opened obediently when Damon kissed him. 

"Fuck me," Damon breathed into his mouth, hand rubbing hard against Alex's crotch to give him more incentive. Alex kissed back, and Damon felt Alex's lips smirk against his. 

"When?" Alex whispered. 

"Right fucking now." 

Alex rested his head against the wall and laughed. "We can't do it now." He must have noticed Damon's slight disappointment, although even Damon knew they couldn't fuck at the back door of a radio station. Alex's thumb brushed Damon's cheek, then against his lips, and Damon drew it in and sucked on it slowly. "Tonight, okay? What're you doing tonight?" 

"Your place," Damon said breathlessly, and they kissed one more time before going back to the bright sunlight and the outside world. 

*** 

Damon couldn't remember the last time he was so excited to see his bass player. He jerked off twice that afternoon just thinking about it. He didn't have to go to the shops for condoms or lube. He had those on him at all times, even if he'd only used them on Graham in the past few months, and lately they'd just sat in the top drawer of his nightstand. He polished off three gin and tonics before he left for Alex's. A celebration. 

Alex's house was on a crowded street, and Damon felt conspicuous standing there ringing the doorbell, the big blue door a reminder of where exactly he was and what exactly he was doing. He wondered where Graham was, and if he would even care. The idea of him not caring was a realistic one, but not one Damon could think about without his heart cracking down the middle. Sex. This was about sex, right? That's all anything with anyone in the band had ever been about. 

Alex answered the door, dressed in black, long strands of hair hanging in his eyes. He had a nice mouth, Damon noticed. An abormally slender neck. A square jaw, more so than anyone he'd ever known. Graham's features were softer and harder to describe, but easier to look at, in a way. They lit up the room when he laughed. Alex had bone structure sharper than icicles, almost uncomfortably handsome. 

Alex pulled him into the dark hallway, walking backward as he led Damon toward the bedroom. Again, there were no hellos, no casual banter. Damon wondered if this was the way Alex always operated, so straight to the point. He leaned in to kiss Alex, and Alex let their lips touch for a moment and pulled away. It occurred to Damon that Alex had already given him a blow job, and they were about to have sex, and they'd only kissed once during that whole time. 

But he let himself be led, following obediently, heart pounding in his ears. Graham and Damon were uncanny at wanting the same thing at the same time, shuddering in each other's arms and fucking until their bodies were sore. Graham liked kissing him more than he liked having sex him. For the last three years of high school, they had laid on the bed and kissed each other for hours, until their jaws ached and their lips were swollen. 

Damon fell backward onto the bed, Alex landing on top of him, one of Alex's sharp hipbones digging into Damon's thigh. But he felt Alex's cock rub against his, a thick hardness that brought a lot of promise, and Damon let his head fall back as Alex's mouth moved across his neck, fingers running through Damon's hair, hips grinding against him in a steady rhythm. "Fuck," Damon gasped after a moment. "Let's just do it." 

Alex stopped suddenly and sat up, climbing off the bed and crossing the room. Damon blinked as Alex disappeared, leaving him lying there, dick hard to the point where the feel of it rubbing against his clothes was painful. "What the fuck?" He didn't even know if Alex could hear him from there, but he figured it was implied anyway. 

Damon gritted his teeth at the ceiling, trying to calm his breathing and tapping his fingers against his stomach. Was he supposed to follow him? He must have forgotten something. Only Alex would think this was funny, to promise him sex and then leave him desperate on the bed. He dug his heels into the mattress, moving his body up until his head was on the pillow. "Alex?" 

Nothing. 

"Alex, where the fuck did you go?" 

Curiosity moved to irritation. Damon realized the only reason he was lying here was out of animal need, and it had turned him into a moronic sex slave.The idea of that pissed him off, almost enough to get up and leave. Almost. He half wondered if he should just lie there and wank, leaving Alex the gift of soiled sheets before he left and went...where? Certainly there were thousands of people in London who would shag him, but none of them were what he wanted. None of them were enough to fill the void he felt, somewhere deep in his chest in a place he couldn't get at. None of them were.... 

He put his arm over his eyes, sighing deeply. It was Alex, it was the situation, it was everything that had happened in the past few months, when his best friend had turned into someone impossible to even hold a conversation with, when everything had spun out of control. He was so lost in thought, so blind to anything around him, that he didn't notice that someone had come back until he heard Alex's voice, smooth and devious. "Graham," he said. 

"What about him?" Damon said, taking the arm off his eyes and letting his head roll to the side. His heart turned in a slow somersault. 

Graham. And Alex. Alex was behind him, one hand was inching down Graham's stomach, the other placed delicately on Graham's shoulder. Graham's head was tilted slightly to the side, Alex planting moist-sounding kisses on Graham's neck. The silhouette looked like a scene from a vampire movie. 

He couldn't ask how or where or why, he could only watch as Alex's lips touched Graham's ear, voice a whisper. "Damon wants you to fuck him," Alex said, "and you're going to, right?" 

Graham nodded slowly, head tilting back against Alex's shoulder. Alex pushed Graham forward lightly and both of them landed in a pile on the bed, Graham on top of Damon as their lips met in a clumsy wet kiss. Damon grabbed Graham's shoulders, trying to keep him close, not wanting to let go now that he was there. They parted long enough for Alex to tug Graham's shirt off. Alex pulled Graham back and reached around, undoing his pants and pulling them down. Damon scrambled to undress himself, so frantic that his fingers fumbled with the buttons. The scene of Alex undressing his friend, hand reaching down and effortlessly stroking Graham's cock, tongue flickering against Graham's earlobe felt like enough to make him come right there. 

Alex leaned forward, still fully clothed, until Graham fell onto Damon and they kissed again. Graham was alert, awake, almost sober. Damon wondered how Alex had managed that. It must have taken days of preparation. He felt the weight of both of them on him as Graham slid inside him. Damon needed something to clench and grabbed hold of Alex's shirt sleeve, clinging to it, feeling Graham begin a tentative rhythm that felt different from what it used to, so it must have been guided by Alex. He watched Alex bite hard into Graham's shoulder, hand moving around to pinch his nipple. Alex bowed his head toward Damon and their kiss was deep and sharp and the best one yet. 

Damon wrapped his arms around whatever part of Graham he could hold, wishing he could drown in the warmth, heart beating madly. He'd forgotten how good this felt, to have Graham on top of him, kissing him the way only someone who had kissed him for 10 years could, bringing tears to his eyes the way only Graham was capable of doing. He was so caught up in it that he didn't even notice when Alex left, as quietly as he'd come. 


End file.
